I throw myself forward.
There is no plan left in my head. No strategy. No calculation. Only motion. Only the knowledge that if I am a fraction of a second too slow, Elena dies. That certainty eclipses everything else. Pain. Fear. Consequence. All of it collapses into a single imperative that drives my body harder than reason ever could.
My body moves before thought can catch up. My good arm slams into Adrian’s shoulder with every ounce of force I have left. The impact jars straight through me. My broken arm screams as it drags uselessly, pain so violent it turns the world white at the edges, like someone has torn the color right out of it. I feel his grip tighten around the gun. I feel the shift of weight as he panics, as control slips. The panic in him spikes, sharp and frantic, like a
